The Beginning of Hope

Part 23

Elizabeth was making the most of a break in the run of winter gloom to sit on the bench she thought of as hers in the grounds of Longbourn. It was positioned the perfect distance from the house, far enough that she might hide when she wished, but not so far as she should feel at a disadvantage, were anything to happen.

It was unlikely anything would, for her family had all risen late after the excitement of the previous evening. Even now, she smiled to think of how happy Mary had seemed at Trenholme. And Jane, too, but Mary's happiness was more of a surprise. She liked the Egerton's and was pleased to see how deeply they seemed to appreciate Mary for who she was, and not who they wished her to be. His planned return to London ahead of schedule was not something to rejoice over, and Mary had confided as much to Elizabeth the previous evening, but it was also not the end of all things. Elizabeth hid her smile in the palm of her hand as she recalled Mary's blushing, fumbling confession. He - well, that is, his sister - is eager that I should find my way to London while they are there and I think I may ask if I can visit Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. You know it has been such a long time since I was last in London, and I suppose they will be coming to see us at Christmas, so perhaps they can bring me back with them...

Elizabeth had allowed her this circular exploration of logic, sensing that Mary needed somehow to justify her course of action beyond merely acknowledging that it was what she most wished to do. Privately, she thought she would be more than willing to go to London herself and take Mary with her if it would progress the faltering first steps towards happiness her quiet sister was taking.

How quickly my interest has shifted from Jane's happiness to Mary's! Elizabeth realised, glancing down at the book in her lap that she had not yet begun to read. Her thoughts had offered her occupation enough. It was not that she did not care to see Jane happy, but rather that she wagered there would be no more work for either of them to do. Mr Bingley's preference for Jane was apparent after relatively few meetings, and it would be but a matter of time before their engagement was announced, Lizzy was sure of it. Jane, too, was in her own little cloud of happiness, unwilling or able to share much beyond smiles and the passing insistence that she was really very happy. Mary, then, would be Elizabeth's focus and securing her happiness with Mr Egerton, who likewise deserved whatever prize he set his heart on. Elizabeth was not sure she had ever met a more courageous man or a more generous one. Most people would allow such an affliction to dampen their character, to render them bad-tempered and self-pitying and she supposed Mr Egerton might have been so, when first he faced it, but now he was kind and generous and surely deserving of all kinds of happiness. If Mary would make him happy, as he sought to make her happy, then Elizabeth was determined they should be together.

She could not deny that having such a scheme to ponder gave her a much-longed-for distraction from her own conflicted feelings. She had barely spoken to Mr Darcy the previous evening, after finding their way slowly and fumblingly towards a friendship during her and Jane's call at Netherfield. Now they were back to mere acquaintances, polite and disinterested. It was better than strangers, she supposed, and she would prefer his indifference to open disdain, but still, she could not quite let go the deep sense of disappointment that weighed heavily on her whenever her memory chanced to bring Mr Darcy to mind.

This was just such an opportunity, as the sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels reached her ears. Seated where she was, she could see both the road and the house, so she was able to spot an oncoming carriage long before her family might, and also had ample chance to recognise it. Visitors from Netherfield? She got to her feet, tucking her book under one arm and waving to the carriage inhabitants, squinting through the small square window and identifying Mr Bingley, with a strange expression resting on his usually cheerful face.

Perhaps he has chosen this morning to pose his question to Papa! Elizabeth thought, her spirits lifting as she increased her pace to a swift walk to greet them at the entrance to Longbourn. I could not have dreamt all would be settled so soon!

Reaching the door at about the same time that the gentlemen clambered down from their carriage, she was a little taken aback to realise that Mr Bingley had not come alone. Still handsome, Mr Darcy's features sank in a perpetual frown that seemed to darken into a scowl as he saw Elizabeth approach. It was Mr Bingley who greeted her, stepping forward to bow.

"Good day, Miss Elizabeth! I trust we have not disturbed you this fine morning." He glanced up at the clouds, as if doubting his own words. It might be dry, but no amount of imagination could render the thick clouds fine.

"Not at all, Mr Bingley," she replied, with a smile. "We are always so very happy to see you!"

There was a harrumph from his companion and she turned to Mr Darcy, drawing a fortifying breath to see her through this first introduction.

"And you, of course, Mr Darcy. What brings you both to Longbourn?"

"Merely a social call, Miss Elizabeth." Mr Darcy's words were little more than a grunt and it seemed to Elizabeth that he could scarcely bear to look at her. Her heart sank. Were they forever to do this dance, from acquaintance to anger and back again? If only they could find their way to being friendly, at least, it would be easier to bear being once more in one another's circle. She fixed her eyes on him. I shall forgive you your falsehood if you can let go whatever grudge you continue to hold against me. He did not sense her question, for he did not look at her long enough to guess she posed one. His gaze was fixed on his hands, which fumbled uselessly with one cuff while he waited for Mr Bingley to approach the doorway. He paused before they did, turning towards Elizabeth again, with an expression of such alarm that Elizabeth was flooded with sudden concern.

"Miss Elizabeth, I wonder...is your sister, that is, are all your sisters at home this morning? And your father and mother?"

"We are all at home, Mr Bingley," she said, lifting her lips in a wry smile. "My father's cousin, too."

"Ah, yes."

There was another thinly-veiled harrumph from Mr Darcy and this time it was Elizabeth who kept her gaze averted.

"Quite so. Indeed." Mr Bingley drew a long, slow breath and stepped closer to the door, which opened before he had time to knock.

"Mr Bingley!" Mrs Bennet's voice floated down the corridor as the small party made their way towards the parlour, Elizabeth and Darcy keeping a very careful distance from one another. "I thought I spied your carriage! Do come and join us, won't you? Oh, Mr Darcy! You are here too!"

Mrs Bennet's enthusiasm appeared to wane a fraction as she spied the tall figure of Mr Darcy behind his friend, but she recovered herself almost immediately.

"Of course you are both most welcome, as ever, to our humble home. Do come, please, and sit down."

"Thank you, Mrs Bennet," Mr Bingley began, glancing desperately around the room until his eyes rested on Jane. Instead of lifting his expression into a smile, as her presence might ordinarily have done, this time it seemed to drive his eyebrows still further south until he was frowning in a manner that was more commonly seen on his friend and seemed most inappropriate on Mr Bingley's cheerful face. "We shall not stay very long, we merely came - that is, I came. I have come, and Darcy here accompanied me. We have cause to go to London."

This last was uttered in such a hurried rush that Elizabeth could not be entirely sure she heard him, and she looked almost without meaning to, to Darcy for confirmation.

"To London?" Her voice was little more than a whisper. "You are leaving?"

Darcy's expression did not change, but his eyes remained fixed on her, silently offering her all the answer she might want.

She ought to have stayed to hear Mr Bingley's explanation, to support Jane in what must be a devastating, crushing blow, but she did not. For once, Elizabeth was tired of concealing her feelings, of pretending all was well when it was not, of feigning that she did not know Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy or love him, even now. She turned on her heels and fled the parlour, neither knowing nor caring what comment her sudden flight provoked.